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[Watch this space for: Pentagon and Petroleum, The Media is only as Liberal as the Corporations Who Own Them, Wash Down With, and Recalcify]


Saturday, October 05, 2002


The tension in my facial muscles eased and the hyperventilation occasioned by prolonged and violent laughter now under control, I can respond to what is surely the greatest bit of online comedy since Andre Sullivan's personal ad.

It took me some days to find it. Ordinarily, you see, I avoid the moron-rookery known as the WBW Comments section, populated largely by morons who feel compelled to attack whatever is posted - often just minutes after posting. Reading their efforts is hard slogging, with each of the nitwits fancying themselves an incubus haunting the site, though coming across as a turd that refuses to flush. But several kindly readers sent notes saying I had been slandered in a most inexcusable way by an eminently forgettable commentator.

Irrationally extreme umbrage was taken at my acceptance of the so-called Shropshire Challenge - with the proviso that Jim J. Lileks, the right-of-center square, accompany me to Iraq to witness firsthand just how nifty a "regime change" can be. An occupant drone of the hive mind apparently believed the queen bee above the invitation, saying that he would stand in proxy ("I promise you that we will meet in the streets of Baghdad, only you won't like our meeting"). This alleged gentleman went so far as to apply for reenlistment with the Army, so he notes on his website.

I can imagine the scenes preceding his post:

After reading my post of 28 September, eminently forgettable commentator is seized with a jingoistic mania. "Honey, get me the clippers. There's something I gotta take care of..." A number-one crop self-inflicted, eminently forgettable commentator gets the old fatigues out of storage, though is unable to fasten the upper buttons on the trousers. He sits his oversized posterior down before the computer - perspiring freely after having exerted himself by shining his boots - to give voice to one of the most intemperate and inexplicable rants ever committed to a computer screen.

"So I'm not afraid to die," our fearless and eminently forgettable commentator assures us, saying he would "be happy to give whatever remains of my life to ensure that my sons have the same opportunities that I've had." The "opportunity" the man has seized on here is the familiar one of making a complete ass of himself.

Luckily in our age, honorable governments are snubbing fourth-raters in their quests to appropriate various toys to satisfy their vanity, though our less-than-honorable government may actually allow such idiocy in the eminently forgettable commentator's case. We can only hope he doesn't meet the sad end he seems to threaten me with, not because it would constitute a loss to reasoned discourse - surely the effect would be quite the opposite - but because it would spare the widow having to explain to the kids just what happened to daddy: "You see, your father was an amazingly insecure man, identifying completely with massive bureaucracies and their unelected functionaries. Every slight issued at 'Kumbaya HQ' was taken with the same outrage as if someone had perpetrated a brilliant new yo-mamma joke at his expense, or had laughed at his sub-average appendage in the YMCA locker room. Oh, yes, he was very insecure. Those same insecurities that drove him to Fisk 'to the molecular level' drove him to Iraq, where he was exploded to the molecular level."

"I have just filed an additional request for re-enlistment with the U.S. Army, hoping for a positive reply this time. I'll keep you updated," our little buddy notes. We, convinced that something so ridiculous could only have been offered as comedy, have just filed an additional nomination of the genius under consideration with The International Academy of Digital Arts and Sciences, hoping to score him a Webby. We'll keep you updated.

• • • • •

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